Yesterday was karate for both kids at the Pittsford Rec. And despite the fact that as their skill level and proficiency goes up, my life expectation decreases (body shots that were once accidental are now as accurate as a surgeon’s knife, tenderizing my innards), I still have no problem sitting and watching them go through the motions in the class. Sensei Creightondoes a great job of leading the kids and keeping them in line, something I marvel at as I stumble my way through chaotically managing a little league team. It’s hard to imagine such a nice guy being able to whip you six ways from Sunday, but there’s proof in this video on the net, and I imagine he’s gotten quite a bit better since then. You want to take a swing at him, let me know, I’ll call 911 for you.

So after karate we headed off to Wendy’s on Monroe Avenue. We order up, and the girl at the register rings it up, and when I hand her a twenty, she rang in the wrong number, and time stopped. For whatever reason, she punched in a dollar more than what the total was, and you could smell the fear. She couldn’t make the change without the register telling her the amount. I’m no math whiz, but I’d say it took me two seconds to come up with the answer, which I had to give to her in order to get my change. Have times changed that much? I remember my dad calculating players batting averages on the fly at Silver Stadium, in his head. Now a Casio register stands between me and my change. What if I had inflated the change? Would I have received it?

And lately there seems to be a lot of “For Rent” signs in the village. At first it was that South American store that used to be Pittsford Liquor store. As I walked through the village on Sunday, I noticed several more. In the picture above, Up the Creek was true to it’s name; by the time I circled Schoen Place and was headed back, the sign was gone. And if you click on the pic to see the high res version, you’ll notice a “For Rent” sign in the reflection of the window, ironically, just to the left of the “Life is Good” sticker. Is our town tanking? Doubtful, since businesses come and go. Starbucks used to be Empire Paint, which is now where Burdett’s Market was. Suzanne’s (distinctive fashions) used to be many things, including an electric car dealer back in the 70′s. Where a pharmacy once was, now stands a salon and a new women’s underwear store. Mechanical registers used to swirl out your change, and now, well, even change has changed.

If you’re looking for an indicator of progress, then new construction would certainly lean in that direction. I while back I remarked on the construction of Clover and Jefferson. Since then though, I haven’t seen much going on. I can only guess the Red Lobster is out, and a Hard Rock Cafe is going in (and I hope Bruce Willis is here for the dedication). And yonder over on Knickerbocker, the long and winding road redux that looks like it is finished, has mysteriously stalled. However, home building has begun in earnest over by Thornell and 64; what was once a field is now a dirt oasis, although I am glad to see they left the tuft of trees standing.

Finally, you’ve probably received the postcard about leaf collection. In case you tossed it, the particulars are loose brush and branches stop getting picked up October 30, and bagged and containerized collection continues through December 18. Any more questions, hit the town website at www.townofpittsford.org.

In a world where we constantly talk about the existential nature of the human race, it is refreshing to occasionally have these moments where we realize there is still kindness and philanthropic behavior amidst the human race. Sometimes we see it in grandiose fashion, such as huge donations given to needy charities. However, the cynical side of me believes that often the particular offerings sometimes ostensibly carry more than the objective; yes, they help the charity, but they also increase the social stature of those who give. Nonetheless, if those in need receive the “dinero” let the grandstanding begin!

Believe it or not, this is only a preface to share some of the experience I’ve had since moving to this place we call Pittsford. Granted, they are minuscule moments compared to your typical charity ball, but as far as I’m concerned they give a far clearer view of the kindness of those we pass on the roads everyday, and they do it without a tuxedo or a chance of a picture in the local paper shaking hands with a copious check in their manicured hands.

Obviously, those of you kind enough to read my words, are most likely keeping up with the presidential race and lackluster economy. Yet, even in a time of uncertainty, I have witnessed several random acts of kindness around the town. In other words, although many of us have worries (economical and otherwise) we still haven’t reduced ourselves to the “take care of yourself and the heck with others” philosophy. Personally, I find that inspiring and hopeful.

Here’s a few cases in point: I have personally nominated Pittsford as the best place in the nation to experience car trouble. About two weeks ago, I was driving along in my ancient BMW (which has an extremely unreliable gas gauge, and with the gas prices, often rides on “E”).One mile down French Road , the ole’German girl sputters and stops right in the middle of an extremely busy “cut through”. Besides my embarassment at running out of gas, I was waiting, on the verge of a panic attack, to hear the cacaphonous angry horn honks to ensue. On the contrary, I’m relatively sure that there were a slew of people who were probably late for their appointments that day stopping to help “yours truly.” In fact it became endearingly comical as I watched a line of cars pulling off to the side of the road for the purpose of helping the befuddled blonde in the ancient “B-mer”.

By that time, I had called my chivalrous husband, manned with a gas can. However, I really needed a sign stating, “I’ve been rescued, but thank you!”

Although this was the first time I’ve experienced a minor road crisis, I’ve seen many a motorist do the same for others “drivers in stress.” Right in front of my house, I thought a presidential candidate was making an unscheduled appearance on my street, or a really good garage sale was going on. There were literally fifteen cars lined up on the side of road! The reason for this headlight to headlight traffic jam? A “Molly Maid” car was stubbornly stuck in a snow drift. Men and women of all ages were pushing the car in question until it was freed from the winter’s wrath.

I guess the point I’m making is that before I moved here, I was “warned” of the pretentious behavior I would encounter, and tales of class judgment espoused habitually.

Since then, I have delightfully discovered that whether you’re driving a 1990 Cadillac Seville with a Dead Head sticker and more bondo than Joan Collins or a 2008 BMW, those same cars would’ve been lined up on the side of the road, eager to help. So, I guess the moral of this story is you can’t judge a book by its gold embossed cover.

(DISCLAIMER) I want to stress that I admire and appreciate all the work done by those charities that may get more press. I understand that behind every guilded charity event are tireless workers who make it happen. To all of you…..I give my humble thanks and appreciation.

So we went out as a family tonight, to Appplebees in Pittsford Plaza. I didn’t make dinner because I had already called off baseball practice. Why? Well, according to the local tv weather guy on the noon forecast, he said rain, then a bit of sun, and then rain again around 5. Since practices are at 6, I didn’t feel like making parents drag their kids out only to have them head back deflated and wet. So I made the call to call it off, and suggested they make their kids watch a little playoff ball, which is on all day today. So what happened? Of course, it got sunny, and was fine all the way through the time we would have practiced. So I felt bad about that. But we also had to head out and pick up the mother in law’s car, because during the day, a heavy woman had fallen on top of her at the senior center and she managed to screw up her elbow and wrist, and left her car there at the senior center. Make sense?

So we get the car and deliver it, and while her arm is fine, or should be, it’s still puffed up and purple, and, well, she won’t be bowling anytime soon. And off we go to eat. While I’m not the greatest fan of chain restaurants, this one has been okay, at least in the sense that I’ve never been severely injured while eating there, never had to walk out on a check, and the kids seem to like it. I’m in a fairly decent mood, given in general this has been an ugly week, and I really have felt like hibernating until March, but we order, and the kids are happily crayoning away. The food seems to take a long time, longer than usual for this place, so much so that the younger lad makes mention of it. I’m thinking maybe chicken is out of season while I’m also trying to catch a glance at the Cubs-Dodgers game, which unfortunately is too far away for my bad eyes to see. Finally the meal comes, and off we go, masticating together like a family should. That is, until I bite into my mashed potatoes and feel the horrid shock of something solid.

Now before I go on, I should mention I’ve never done a great job caring for my chompers, and have lived with some sort of tooth pain for the longest time, and am a bit sensitive when something attacks them. So as I take a bite, and feel the skull shaking sound, I am immediately taken aback. I spit the food out onto the plate, realizing as I spit on the plate that this is not something you do in a restaurant, but I need to get whatever can’t be chewed out as quickly as possible before more damage is done (I do, by the way, have estimates in a drawer here for up to $3000 worth of tooth repairs that need to be done, but when the wallet is empty, it just can’t happen. If you want to contribute to the tooth repair fun, feel free). As I start remashing the mashed potatoes on my plate, I come across a small pebble. It is brown, and about the size of a bb. I try to break it into smaller pieces, thinking maybe it’s just some hardened salt or something, but it won’t budge, it’s solid, and had I bit down harder, would have taken some enamel bits with it. So I show it to the waitress, who shows it to the manager, and they both look perplexed, reassuring my belief that mashed potatoes shouldn’t contain stones. A bit later she comes back, and says the manager says dessert is on him. Pretty strange. I ask the wife, my jaw almost gets broken, and the kids get dessert free? But at that point I wasn’t thinking too clearly, or at least not happily, and just wanted to get out. So it’s bad enough as my first time as manager I make a call to cancel a practice that could of been held, but it gets worse as a meal from a chain restaurant tries to take out my molars.

Another errand today took me in search of a cell phone battery for the wife’s phone, which had died a lonely death the day before. I did all the research, checked online, saw that the official battery from the manufacturer was about 40 bucks, but that places like Amazon.com had them for as low as $15 (but if you went to the website of the place they got them from it was $26 – go figure that). But I called around, and found the Verizon store on Monroe Avenue had them on sale for $29, and he said he was out, but stop by after 2. Which I did. And the price was $39. That’s what the girl told me, who jumped on me like a used car salesman spotting a sucker as I walked in to the store. It is overly bright in there, like a Broadway stage, and there were a bunch of guys behind the counter mulling around land line phones, which is pretty funny, given what they sell. The other thing that was really annoying to me (and remember, I’ve been in a bad mood all week), was that when she was ringing it up, she asked what phone number the phone had that the battery was going into. It only hit me as weird later, when I thought, hey, I’m just getting this thing to level the kitchen table, what do you care? I could have gotten it for half price, had I gone the internet route, and at the point of sale I didn’t even feel like arguing about the price. Why not? Because there are moments, at least for me, when you don’t argue, when you just let it go. I could have made a scene, swore a lot, walked out. Could have done the same thing at Applebees. But nobody wins in a situation like that, so why bother. I could have blown off some steam, and what, saved $10? Maybe gotten an entree comped? I think of it as a learning experience. Next time, get a spare battery online for next to nothing, and when at a chain restaurant, stick to fluids.

moved to Pittsford as a teenager and attended Pittsford-Mendon High School. Her greatest passion is as a lover of and advocate for the arts and music. Donna attended Rhode Island School of Design and earned an MFA from R.I.T. She’s a free-lance art director, advertising photographer and copywriter. Her love of narrative and film has led her to direct and produce short films.

Donna developed her awareness of and concern for environmental issues after being
exposed to the chemicals in artist materials in art schools in the US and Canada which
made her ill for a time. Healthy today, she finds pleasure in nature, writing, and music.
She enjoys Pittsford for its picturesque locations, wildlife, and community involvement.

was born in Rochester, lived here for a while until his dad was transferred to Connecticut ("Thanks, Xerox."). Then a few years later they came back to Fairport ("Thanks again, Xerox."), but Bill went to Pittsford schools. He moved over to Pittsford in 1979. He worked a bunch of jobs, played in bands, went back to MCC and then U of R for a Bachelor's degree in the early 90's. Shortly after that, he moved to NYC with his wife, Laura, where he worked at Ogilvy & Mather and Christie's doing tech support. They moved out to Northern Virginia during the Internet boom, hoping to get rich quick, but missed that boat. They moved back to Pittsford in 2001, along with two boys. Bill still plays guitar with the Chinchillas, the Squeaky Chair Jazz band, and the Steve Greene Trio occasionally.

"Though all communities and areas get a certain reputation (deserved or not), there is a good quality of life here, and the bulk of the people I have met here and places I have been to reflect that," Bill says. "My reason for wanting to blog about the town is at least twofold -- to vent my views and continue with writing, but also to force myself to engage in the environment in which I live. Too many people complain there is nothing to do or see, but they never actually get out and look. I don't want to be like that."